


I'm Over

by softnotlizzie



Series: Tommy's Interludes [5]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Triggers, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softnotlizzie/pseuds/softnotlizzie
Summary: Tommy's had enough, don't you think? He's over, isn't he?Isn't he?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Tommy's Interludes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033278
Comments: 18
Kudos: 257





	1. I'm Over

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this one really hurts so please be careful and try not to read if it's going to trigger you! It does mention suicide and kind of an eating disorder. It's important to know that this does not end my series. I'm letting you know now that Tommy will come back as a ghost AT. LEAST. I haven't got everything planned out but I'm getting there. Please let me know what you think and if you cried :))
> 
> edit! fuck that lol. december 16th just happened, so shits changing!

In these past few brief insights into Tommy’s confusing mind, he’d begun by venting quite severely about whatever extreme emotion he’d been feeling at the time. He’d been through fear and confusion, unimaginable anger, twice, and the thought process involved in feeling completely and utterly betrayed.

Now was so very different. 

Tommy either felt absolutely no emotions or they were so illegibly scrambled that he could not discern one from the other. There was most likely some anger down in there somewhere. Sadness he would’ve rather not acknowledged. Betrayal and confusion that made him feel sick at night. A nagging sense of being fully manipulated, but no motivation to change that fact. 

And to be fair, it’s not like Tommy had ever been particularly good at dealing with emotions. Even less so when he had no idea what he was feeling and pretty much no reason to sort it out. Who would care, he wondered. Who would care if Tommy lost himself in the anger, drowned in the sadness he felt? The one he simply could not escape. Who would care if Tommy ventured into that fucking abyss, and simply never resurfaced?

The answer he came up with only sent him wanting to do it even more. 

“Tommy,” came that horrible voice. (It pestered him even in his dreams. Ha, dreams indeed. Fucking relentless.) That was just another reason on his list to go and not come back. “Armor in the hole.”

And Tommy…

He didn’t even fight. Honestly, why should he? If he did, things would only get harder for him. And why should he want that? Why should Tommy want to upset Dream? His only friend. 

Wasn’t he?

So, he stripped himself of the pitiful defenses he’d gathered only just yesterday, after Dream had taken the previous set. He watched as they smothered each other and dirt below. He barely felt sad. Or even slightly irritated. And when Dream claimed he hadn’t any flint on him—which, by the way, he almost definitely had—Tommy paid no mind as he sparked his own and let it fall on the armor below. He would’ve stood there, letting that fire burn, letting the iron melt, if Dream had not playfully dragged the younger teen in the other direction.

“This way, Tommy,” Dream practically sang. When Tommy let his eyes focus again, he found himself stood in front of the mine he’d dug out on his second day here.

Confusion bubbled up from that mass of emotions in the pit of his stomach. “What?” he wondered aloud. “What’s it you want me to do here?”

And Dream, surprisingly, seemed to grow confused as well. “What the hell do you mean?” he asked, and Tommy could see his eyebrows knitting together just over the top of that emotionless mask. “Aren’t you going to get more iron?”

Tommy looked away from the black, beady eyes of Dream’s mask. He’d found that staring into them for too long hurt his tried brain. He looked down into the darkness of his mind, and thought about going down there yet again.

“No,” he decided, quietly, and realized Dream probably hadn’t heard him. “No, I don’t think I will. Why should I, if you’re only going to burn it all tomorrow?”

Dream took a step back. If Tommy didn’t know the man too well for that, he’d almost have believed that he was surprised. “Well, if you want to just waste the day away, then go right ahead.”

“Okay,” Tommy answered with absolutely no hesitation. “I’d like that, I think.”

And so he did. Tommy turned away, letting Dream’s icy fingers slip off of his shoulder. He turned toward his tent, knew the beaten path so well by now that he let his eyes remain glued to his own feet. When he felt the tent obstruct the sun burning onto his neck, he wasted no time just falling into his bed. If it could even be called such.

Dream followed the younger boy in, standing almost protectively just feet away. Tommy turned away, facing the wall of the tent instead of the man looming at his back. He heard Dream shuffle around, evidently confused, and unsure what to do with himself, until Tommy heard his heavy footsteps receding. It didn’t take him much longer than that to drift away. Not into sleep, necessarily, but a blissful sort of unconsciousness. 

. . . 

When Tommy came back to himself, it was dark. He must’ve been in that state between sleep and wakefulness for more than ten hours. He knew he should’ve cared about that, should’ve been concerned for himself. But he was not. 

He sat up slowly, allowing his brain to catch up. Immediately, Tommy caught sight of the chest in the corner. It wasn’t usually there. For a moment, he didn’t even care what was in it. He worried it would be something bad. Worried slightly that Dream would be angry at him for it. But his childlike curiosity eventually got the better of him.

Tommy sat, legs crossed, on the floor of the tent. The cold of the floor seeped into his heart through the skin of his legs. He tilted the box towards him and peeked inside.

What he found only managed to confuse him further. 

One by one, he drew out a full set of iron armor, tools included. His blood cooled instantly, wondering if he should just put it back inside the chest and pretend he’d never seen it. Dream would most certainly be unhappy about this. 

But the piece of paper sat at the bottom of the box caught his eye. He simply couldn’t resist.

Tommy,

He took a deep breath, even then.

It took me about ten minutes to get this for you. Don’t worry about tomorrow; you can keep this set. Hope you feel better tomorrow.

-Dream

For a moment then, Tommy froze. Even now, his mind was racing. Was this some kind of trick? Had it not actually been Dream who placed this here? 

But…he didn’t even really care. He was just too tired. 

He’d leave it for now. Tommy didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, though. He let his eyes fall shut, but his mind continued going until the sun peeked over the waters just a few feet away. 

The next day, Tommy did feel better. Dream didn’t show up for a few hours into the morning, so Tommy decided to try and take the most of it. He donned the armor, though he wasn’t sure how much he really needed it, and got to work. He cleaned up the beach, while pointedly not thinking about how much of a failure it’d been. He built himself a little chest room; he hadn’t much to put in it, but it still felt like progress. He let Chirp play for the whole time. 

For the first time in a long time, Tommy slept well that night. His mind fell silent. 

The next day was even better. He didn’t wait for Dream to show up or not show up. He ate well, that morning, and had the stomach to keep the food. Tommy ventured into the nether, and spent a considerable amount of time creating an easier path to follow. It was colorful, and fairly geometric. Surely, people would visit him more often along this path. It was welcoming and so easy to follow! Tommy couldn’t wait. He went to sleep that night feeling excited. That was one he hadn’t felt since before the exile. 

No one came the next day. Tommy brushed it off. They were busy. Busy, busy people, indeed.

But then, they didn’t come the next day. Or the day after that. And very expectedly, not the day after that, either. 

Maybe he’d done something wrong. He woke up feeling much worse, but had enough motivation to pull himself out of bed and do more work on his nether bridge. There had to be something he could do in order for people to want to see him. His friends. 

Right?

But then, Dream showed up. As if he’d never been gone at all. As if those days hadn’t been some of the happiest Tommy could remember. 

And Dream said the thing, and Tommy only waited for a moment, in confusion and slight shock, before he dragged the armor off of his body, dropping it in the hole Dream had prepared. Just for him. 

The day would not be going as Tommy had wanted it to. He knew that.

Dream asked Tommy what he’d been planning to do. Like they were good friends, and like Dream hadn’t repeatedly taken everything Tommy had ever wanted or loved.

“Fixing my nether bridge,” Tommy responded instantly and obediently. 

They went together, clay in hand, and made it wider. They decorated the path, and gave signs indicating which way to take to reach Tommy most easily. Dream chatted away cheerfully, and Tommy let him. He didn’t hear much of what the older man said, but Dream didn’t really seem to mind. 

More than once, Tommy found his gaze caught aimlessly in what was below him. The lava, riling and boiling, almost like it was alive. Tommy could feel it from all the way up here, could hear it as if it was speaking to him. More than once, Dream dragged him away, blabbering on. 

He must’ve stared for too long, just once.

Tommy didn’t even realize it, but he was leaning forward. Far too much so for Dream’s comfort. He called Tommy’s name.

Tommy didn’t even really hear him. All he could hear was faint noise. Like it was coming through multiple layers of time and existence itself.

What if he fell?

He’d already been through the thought process similar to this one. The one that got him here in the first place. Who would care? Who would do shit? Who would even notice?

“Tommy!” 

Dream. That’s who. Or so it seemed.

The older man grabbed onto Tommy’s upper arm and yanked him harshly away from the edge. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just…” Tommy didn’t even have an answer to give. “Just…looking.” 

Dream scoffed. “It’s not your time to die, Tommy.”

There it was. There was that anger Tommy had fucking smothered, the one he’d been trying to find for months now. He hadn’t been angry at all in so long. And yet, there it was.

“Not my time to die, is it? It’s never my time to die, you bitch,” Tommy spat the words out, and almost regretted them when he felt Dream’s claws dig further into his skin. But they only drew that anger further up, until it was simmering, burning in his throat. “You’d say that, wouldn’t you? You don’t want me to die.”

“Of fucking course, I don’t want you to die Tommy! Then what would I have—what would I do? Without you? I care about you, Tommy; I’m your friend. No one else cares. I’ve shown you that.”

“You’ve done well, Dream. I’ll give you that. You’ve torn me from anything I’ve ever cared about living for, and now what? You expect me to still want to fight?” Tommy could feel hot tears blurring his vision. He blinked them away, not even caring if they tracked aimlessly down his cheeks, making him look weak. Like a child. “You kick me and punch me and shove me into a pit every single fucking day, and you expect me to still want to live? Didn’t take you for a fucking dumbass.”

The words felt like venom on his tongue. And yet, at the same time, he’d never felt so satisfyingly pained. 

Dream was losing that tenuous handle he tried so hard to keep. His mask was slipping, revealing some of the evilness and the fury that lived within him. Good, Tommy thought. He wanted that. Keep going. 

And so he did. “Oh, I know. You’re only mad because if I fucking do it, you won’t get the chance to kill me yourself. Drag me around like a puppet until I fucking beg for death at your hands. Until I’d do anything just to die.

“What would you do then, huh? Huh, Dreamy? Would you take me to Tubbo, maybe? Let me see L’Manburg for one last time. Maybe let me begin to feel like I wanted to live again before taking it away. Perhaps you’d make Tubbo be the one to do it. Let Quackity, and Fundy, and Wilbur watch. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucking psychopath!”

Further, Tommy’s mind prodded. Further, until the tyrant wouldn’t be able to stand it any longer. At this point, the blood had been cut off to his fingers on the arm Dream had taken vicious hold of. 

“You think I didn’t fucking realize it? How you were manipulating me? Hell, maybe I fuck didn’t. I do now. So what the fuck are you going to do about it? Lock me up? Finally fucking do what you’ve wanted to all this time? Do it. I fuck dare you.”

Dream snarled like an animal, and for just a moment, Tommy’s resolve shuddered and threatened to melt away. He was so out of practice. He hadn’t fought like this in so long.

“What would little Gogy think if he saw you like this? Your king. What about Sapnap, your little pet? What about them? Would they still consider you the great hunter, their savior, their friend?”

That one struck a nerve, and Tommy knew it instantly. The blood rushed back into his fingers as Dream released Tommy’s arm and latched onto his collar instead. He drew the younger boy close, but backed him up so that Tommy’s feet barely hung onto that blackstone. He almost felt it crumble beneath his toes. 

“Don’t fucking say his name. Either of their names,” Dream finally spoke, his voice low and beastly. If Tommy had any single emotion other than anger coursing relentlessly through his veins right now, he’d be scared. As it was, he only laughed in Dream’s stupid masked face.

“What, strike a soft bit, did I?” He taunted, knowing he shouldn’t, and doing it anyway. “Why don’t you just get rid of me Dream? Who the fuck would care? You’d lose your little plaything, huh? That’s it. What if I’m not fun anymore? Is that why you let me keep that armor? To build up some of me just so you could tear it apart again.

“Fine, then. Picture this, if you’d be so kind. I don’t give a fuck anymore. You can do what you want; it won’t even faze me. I’ll just be a shell. Will that be fun, Dream? Will that keep you entertained?”

“You better shut the fuck up,” Dream cut in. Once, long ago, Tommy had proclaimed that he’d never seen Dream so mad. Now, he retracted that statement. This was the angriest Tommy had ever seen him. Almost to the point where Tommy wondered if the man was even in control of his own body anymore.

Some childlike, hopeful part of him hoped that he wasn’t. 

“Dream,” Tommy felt an otherworldly calm seep into his very bones. His very being. “I hope you find something you care about again. I don’t think it’s very healthy to go about like you are. What are you going to do when George and Sapnap don’t care about you either anymore?”

Tommy realized distantly that he sounded like Ghostbur. 

Dream’s hands momentarily unclasped from Tommy’s collar. 

He should’ve fucking jumped. Tommy should’ve taken that moment to just fucking do it. But he didn’t. He waited. 

And in that moment, Dream hauled Tommy up by his waist, draping the younger boy over his shoulder and walking back towards the Logstedshire portal. Tommy felt tears fall down his face, but he was so tired. That anger had taken everything from him. He had no more left to give.

. . .

This time, Tommy woke and instantly knew he wasn’t alone. He sat up hesitantly, face feeling tight from the tears he must’ve shed in his sleep. Dream didn’t look at Tommy, just continued slicing away, just a little too violently, at whatever meat he held tight under his fingers. Tommy just sat and watched, and he wasn’t sure how long it was before Dream passed him a plateful of roasted chicken and only said, “Eat.”

Tommy had no energy to disobey. He ate the chicken bit by bit, but tasted nothing, and only felt nauseous as the food settled into his stomach. He knew he hadn’t been eating well enough to sustain this type of sustenance, but he didn’t feel like arguing with Dream, knowing he’d fucked himself over in the nether. However long ago that had been. So he shoveled the tasteless food down his throat and tried to keep down the bile that itched at him. 

For minutes, it was silent. Dream didn’t leave the tent. He only sat at the end of Tommy’s bed and stared directly ahead. Tommy could practically hear the man’s teeth grinding together.

The anything-but-peaceful silence was quite thankfully interrupted by the sound of someone calling Tommy’s name from outside the tent. He couldn’t lie, the sound excited him. He hadn’t seen anyone but Dream for so long. And it was very clear that the two could use a buffer between them now.

So, Dream stood and exited the tent, and only then did Tommy follow along like a puppy. 

Ghostbur’s innocent smile greeted him, but Tommy didn’t feel it warm his insides like it used to. 

“Wilbur,” Dream said, and Tommy noticed that the older man’s voice was scratchy and gruff. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m visiting my little brother, of course,” Ghostbur provided cheerfully. He practically skipped past Dream to throw his arms around Tommy’s frame. For a moment, the teen tensed, before sinking gratefully into the physical show of affection. He’d never liked it this much before.

Too soon, the warmth (isn’t it funny to call it such a thing? Wilbur’s ghostly touch was warmer than Dream’s monstrous one) of Ghostbur’s touch had vanished. 

“How are you, Tommy?” Ghostbur asked.

Tommy really didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. The ghost could tolerate even less unhappiness than Tommy could. “Good, of course,” was all he provided, and he felt more than heard his voice tremble slightly. “You haven’t got any Blue at all for me, have you?”

Ghostbur didn’t quite frown, but the smile faded away quickly. “I haven’t got any; I’m sorry, Tommy. There was a lot going on in L’Manburg, and I haven’t had any time to gather more.”

Tommy hoped the disappointment didn’t show in his eyes, but just in case, he looked away, at the ground. He didn’t trust his voice to give Ghostbur a response that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

Dream spoke up after a beat or two of uncomfortable silence. “I’ve got things I need to do, Wilbur. Can you keep an eye on him?”

Tommy had not expected Dream to let him out of his sight after the stunt Tommy had pulled. His heart climbed slightly at the words. 

“Of course,” Ghostbur guaranteed. “I’m free all day.”

Dream only gave Ghostbur a solid nod in return, and fixed Tommy with a warning glare before stepping into the water and letting his trident take him far away. Tommy and Ghostbur watched him go quietly, neither speaking until Dream was just a mistaken mark in a painted sky. 

“So,” Ghostbur announced tenderly, as if he could sense Tommy’s tense aura. “What d’you want to do today, Tommy?”

“Could we just…” Tommy hesitated momentarily, wondering if he considered it worth it to give Ghostbur this side of him. “Could we just sit here? For a while?”

Tommy knew that Ghostbur wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that Tommy motivate, get up off his arse. But he stayed silent. And after a moment, only muttered, “Sure.”

They sat for much longer than Tommy had originally planned on, but he felt so at peace. Unlike anger and sadness and excitement, Tommy couldn’t even remember the last time he felt peace.

“Tommy,” Ghostbur spoke up after what must’ve been hours. “Can I ask what you’re thinking about?”

No, was Tommy’s instantaneous response. Ghostbur would be horrified and disappointed if Tommy shared his mind.

But then, why shouldn’t he? Ghostbur wouldn’t be able to do anything by the time Tommy was done, anyway. 

“Do you like being dead, Wilbur?” Tommy hadn’t called the ghost by that name in a while. “Is it…peaceful?”

The older man stayed silent beside Tommy for a long time, and he almost thought that Ghostbur wouldn’t answer.

“I don’t know,” he responded, and Tommy could feel the sincerity in his tone. “I don’t know because if I answer how I feel I should, I’ll be omitting important things. I only remember happy memories from Alivebur’s time, you know that. So if I answer as I feel now, I’d say no, I don’t like being dead. Because all of my memories are better than what I do now. I miss the revolution. I miss Techno, and Philza, and you. In a way that I don’t get to see now. I miss Fundy. I miss Sally, too. Sometimes I even miss what Dream used to be. So, the most obvious answer is no.

“But the problem is that it isn’t that simple, as much as we wish it was. If I acknowledge the fact that I don’t remember anything that wasn’t inherently happy, my answer will change. I know I was a horrible person, Tommy. I know it because everyone likes me much better this way. They didn’t even have a funeral for Wilbur. Did you know that? So, if I answer honestly, then it would be yes, I do enjoy being dead. Because everyone tells me it’s better than being alive.”

Tommy shouldn’t have expected a clear yes or no. And yet he felt so defeated.

“Why do you ask, Tommy?” And Ghostbur sounded more like Wilbur in that moment than he ever had before. If Tommy closed his eyes, he could imagine he was talking to his older brother in the flesh, not some silly, misty hologram. And so Tommy closed his eyes, despite the tears steadily forcing their way out.

“I don’t know if I like being alive, Wilbur,” he began, and then he simply couldn’t stop. “Everything is horrible hear. All my friends hate me. The only person I ever see is my mortal enemy, and all he does is taunt me. I miss it too, Wilbur. I miss how everything was before. Sometimes I think I can go back there if I just give up.”

Ghostbur seemed hesitant and surprised at the uncharacteristic outburst of emotion. 

“I don’t think you can go back, Tommy. I don’t think either of us can. If we could, I would’ve done it already. I’m not proud of it, but I would’ve abandoned everything in this reality to go back in time. It cannot be done.”

“But I don’t want to be here, Wil!” Tommy sobbed. “Even death, nothingness, would be better than this! I fucking hate it here!”

Once again, Ghostbur waited to respond. 

“I don’t think you’d like it, Tommy,” Ghostbur announced. “I do not think you’d like being dead. You can’t do anything like this. You can’t feel anything. It’s like being a shadow of yourself. Tommy, I know you. You won’t be able to stand it.”

In that moment, Tommy really believed it was Wilbur speaking to him, Wilbur guiding Tommy’s curled up body to rest against his own. He wouldn’t look up to check, afraid it would all fall away if he did.

“But who would even care, Wilbur?” Tommy went on, spilling every evil thought that had pestered its way into its mind since this entire ordeal began. “Who would give a fuck if I just didn’t exist anymore?”

“I would,” Ghostbur answered immediately, but it wasn’t enough. Tommy shook his head weakly. Ghostbur should know that it’s not enough. 

“I want someone to be sad that I’m gone. If no one is sad when you’re gone, what is the point of being present? What’s the point at all?”

Finally, Ghostbur seemed to be at a loss for words. “Tommy, I--.”

“I can’t do this. I need help, okay? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I can’t help you with this. I don’t have the capability. I’m going to get help, yeah? I promise. Please, Tommy, just stay here, I’ll be back so soon, you won’t even notice I’m gone, I just need to go get help.”

Ghostbur rambled on, until Tommy couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. Or maybe Ghostbur had gone. Finally. The last person to leave Tommy had gone. 

Though Tommy could barely see, he made his way to the nether portal successfully. Dragged himself through on the other side. Stumbled halfheartedly to the edge. His tears choked him as he stared down, again. Tommy wondered if he’d suffocate before he even got the chance. 

He sat on his knees, letting the heat eat him up. Let gravity pull him forward. It was as if the whole world wanted this, just as badly as Tommy did.

He didn’t want Ghostbur to return with help. He didn’t even believe that he could. Who could Ghostbur possibly bring that would make Tommy change his mind?

Tommy was too far gone for that. 

Suddenly, his breathing cleared, and his blurry vision faded away. The lave below him was clear as day. The air in his lungs didn’t even feel hot anymore. Tommy let his fingers fall from where they were tightly grasping the edge of the blackstone. He tipped and wobbled like a boat in stormy seas. 

Sounds, voices, struggled through his ears. Music in the background. Mellohi. Words. Selfish. Never meant to be. Hey, does anyone smell toast? Goodbye, Tommy. You are hereby exiled. Armor in the hole, Tommy. You know how it goes. Don’t fight it, Tommy. Just let go.

Just let go.

Just let go.

When Tommy’s eyes opened again, days from then, he wouldn’t remember how it had felt to lean just slightly forward and fall.


	2. Surely Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's safe?
> 
> How the fuck did that happen?
> 
> He's woken up comfortable, and warm, and fed, for the first time in a long time.
> 
> Tommy's at least 90% sure something's wrong, because he definitely was not supposed to go to heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said that the s*icide in the last chapter was definite but whoops! i changed my mind. December 16th happened and here we are. I needed something and this actually felt good to right. It's quite a bit shorter than the others, but I like how it ends and i really wanted to get it out. Please drop some feedback if ya feel like it!

When Tommy’s eyes opened again, days from then, he didn’t remember how it had felt to lean just slightly forward and fall. 

He remembered what came before. Very unfortunately, Tommy remembered the emptiness. He remembered being so angry at Dream, and he remembered why. He remembered waking up, and not even feeling bothered to deal with the green bastard. He remembered Dream leaving, replacing himself with Ghostbur. Remembered that horrible conversation he’d subjected poor Ghostbur to and honestly, definitely wished he had not. Ghostbur had panicked, and Tommy had genuinely never seen him that way, even as Alivebur. Tommy didn’t even know that Ghostbur could actually feel that emotion, and he wished he’d never had to find out. He remembered dragging himself pathetically through the nether portal, and as close to the edge as he could get. Remembered the words racing through his mind, not a moment of relent. They were horrible words, too. Words that Tommy was pretty sure were the reason he gave up.

But he did not remember falling.

According to everything else Tommy remembered, he’d definitely jumped. And here, in this state of half-consciousness, Tommy couldn’t quite regret that decision, but he wasn’t proud of it. And he wondered, if he was put in that position, would he do it again? He couldn’t answer that. 

But Tommy was pretty sure he shouldn’t be alive right now.

And he definitely should not be in heaven, if it existed.

So why the fuck was this bed so comfortable?

As he drifted further and further from sleep, Tommy began to question what the fuck had happened. Where the fuck was he? Who’s fucking bed was this? What the fuck was the smell? It wasn’t a bad smell…

With a resigned sigh, Tommy made the unfavorable decision to open his eyes. 

And Tommy’s surprisingly good memory definitely recognized that ceiling. And that random boat filled with drops very obviously from a zombified villager. And that poster, on the wall. And the other four posters. 

No other man advertised his own war propaganda in his house. For decoration. 

What the fuck was Tommy doing in Technoblade’s fucking house?

In an enraged stupor, Tommy jumped out of that very comfortable bed and made his way toward the ladder descending into the room from which two familiar voices were emanating. He immediately stumbled, not realizing how weak and feeble he was feeling.

Weak and feeble. What a fucking dork. 

In the end, the stumble was in his favor. The momentary halt in rage and dedication to understanding the situation gave him the chance to overhear what Techno and Ghostbur were discussing just below him. 

“…do you mean, you don’t remember?” came Techno’s gruff voice, but it felt even harsher than normal. Even Tommy gritted his teeth at the sound. 

“I mean I don’t remember,” Ghostbur responded, in that innocent voice of his. “It must’ve been extremely unpleasant if my brain got rid of it. That’s all I know.”

Techno sighed again, and Tommy heard his heavy footsteps, probably as he paced the floor to a dent. “Look, Wilbur—”

“Ghostbur.”

“Ghostbur,” Tommy could tell by his voice that Techno was very clearly getting to the end of his rope. “All I know is that I was sleepin’ peacefully when here comes a wild bangin’ on my door. I go to check what the heck is goin’ on. Who could it be? You. I ask what you need. And you said, and I quote, “Tommy’s gone very bad. Tommy’s gone very bad and I can’t fix him. Tommy wants to be a ghost and I need you to fix him.”

Oh.

Well. That’ll do it. 

Tommy’s stomach sank and the tips of his fingers grew cold. Somewhere in his brain, Tommy felt unimaginably guilty for doing that to Ghostbur. For scaring him so badly that his happy brain had to expel the memory of it immediately. Maybe that’s why Tommy couldn’t really remember much either.

“What did Tommy do?” Ghostbur asked, audibly confused, voice having lower to a barely-there whisper. 

There was a weighty thud as Techno assumedly settled haphazardly into one of his flimsy kitchen chairs. “You brought me back to Tommy and by the time we made it through the portal, he was halfway over the edge of the nether bridge.”

Tommy felt sick. He was going to be sick. He knew he had to have jumped—of course he did—but hearing the words out loud, especially having woken up relatively unharmed. 

“I was able to throw a splash potion of fire resistance. It should’ve been like fallin’ into water. But that high up, he still sustained some injuries because of the surface tension. Not to mention he was weak, barely clothed, and half-starved to begin with. He was completely out of it by the time I drank a potion myself and fished him out of there,” Techno was calmer now, and resigned. Almost sad.

“What do we do now?” Ghostbur asked, and Tommy could not discern one prominent emotion from his voice. Usually, he could. Even if it was always just cheerfulness. 

Techno stayed silent for a long minute, and Tommy quickly grew restless, shifting around on his feet silently, afraid to make any noise. 

“He can’t go to L’Manburg. Can’t go to the Dream SMP. That place he was at, Log-whatever, it’s completely destroyed. Nothin’ left. I wouldn’t let him go back there, anyway; it obviously wasn’t healthy. And I’m not kickin’ him out in the snow, at least not until he’s stronger. So, I guess…” Techno trailed off, and Tommy knew what he was going to say. He wished he wouldn’t though. 

“I guess he’s gonna have to stay with me.”

Time for a grand entrance.

Tommy put on a mask and swaggered down the stairs as if he was completely unbothered and fully untouchable. “’Ow do!” 

“Tommy!” Ghostbur instantly exclaimed, shooting to his feet with unnatural grace and enveloping Tommy in that strange, otherworldly warmth he hesitated to admit that he liked. Tommy watched Techno from over Ghostbur’s shoulder as he gave the phantom man a pat on the shoulder. “I think I was terribly worried about you. I’m not quite sure why, though…”

“It’s alright, Ghostbur,” Techno finally chimed in. He gave Tommy a look, silencing something the boy wasn’t even planning on saying. “Actually, could you go get some wood, please? Need some more in the fire.”

And Ghostbur’s eyes immediately flicked to the overflowing pile of firewood in the corner of the room, but seemed to understand, because he gave a soldier-like nod after letting go of Tommy and left the house.

Techno sat, gesturing Tommy to do the same. The teenage boy followed, though hesitantly, and it was obvious.

“I’m not gonna ask how much you heard. I’m sure you got the important stuff. I don’t know the extent of what you went through over there. It’s not my place to ask. It is my place, however, considering I saved you from certain and permanent death, to demand that you do what I tell you to, at least for now. First, you are goin’ to be staying here for the time being and I just don’t feel like arguin’ about it, so don’t even try. Second, as soon as you’re healthier, I’ll explain to you what I’m doin’ here and let you make a decision about what you want to do. If it’s the right one, you stay, you earn protection, and you get all the gear you could possibly want. If it’s the wrong one, either I send you away, or I give you to Dream. Depends on how charitable I’m feelin’.”

Tommy sputtered immediately on protest, but the older man silenced him with just a hand. 

“I understand it’s hard for you to accept help from other people. Honestly, it’s hard for me to give it. But Ghostbur came here, more upset than I’ve ever seen him—worse than I’ve ever seen Wilbur—and I’ll be damned if I let him get hurt because you put yourself in another bad situation,” Techno stated, and even Tommy knew that there was no wiggle room to be had. 

He sank deeper into his chair. 

Tommy definitely did not want help from Technoblade. He didn’t want help from anyone, except maybe Tubbo…

What he was starting to learn was that some people really could be just a means to an end. He’d served that position plenty of times before, to Wilbur, to Dream, to Technoblade himself. And when the time came, Tommy would be gone. He’d get stronger, and by the time Techno started dragging him into his sick, anarchist games, Tommy would be halfway across the map. Gone. In a much better way than before.

If he had to admit it, he already felt better. His shoulders relaxed instinctually. He felt warm, wasn’t shivering at all, and realized it was probably because he had both shoes and the clothes he wore had no holes in them. Tommy knew if he asked, Techno would feed him. If he was cold, Techno would cover him. If he was weak, Techno would protect him. Tommy didn’t like it, but it was true. They were fucking family, and Techno had brutally murdered Tubbo, but he’d never laid a hand on Tommy. 

The two of them didn’t necessarily have to agree for Tommy to scam him out of his life’s work. 

“Plus, we both know that Phil would murder me if he found out you were in this state and I didn’t forcibly help you,” Techno added, probably in an attempt to diffuse the tension, and for how awkward he usually was, it worked. 

Tommy gave him the smile he wanted in return, though it was more of a smirk, and held out his hand in agreement. 

Tommy had been at Techno’s for less than a week now and was feeling fully and totally rejuvenated. Just like he’d promised, his brother had fed, clothed, and protected Tommy for that time period. Ghostbur stuck around, rambling something about an eviction notice he’d received from the country of L’Manburg. (Tommy didn’t know if he could lie, but that didn’t seem realistic.)

They’d only had one close encounter, which was actually impressive. 

Tommy had been stuffing his face with that morning’s potato breakfast when an alert chimed on three separate comm devices. All three rushed to check it, and as soon as Tommy read the message, he froze.

Dream has joined the game. 

Ghostbur seemed delighted, rambling again, something about the woods and fucking party invitations, but Techno and Tommy exchanged one glance and sprang into action. 

Within two minutes, the two of them had changed Tommy into the clothes he’d been wearing when he arrived, messed up his hair, and even roughed him up a bit. (Techno had been a little too happy to appease that one.) They filled the ugliest sack Techno owned with a couple of apples and some stone tools. Tommy was halfway out the door when Technoblade tossed a beaten iron chest-plate at Tommy and told him to be safe.

If Tommy wasn’t careful, he might start to like Technoblade. 

Tommy hurried back, deciding the exhaustion was worth the lack of suspicion. He tossed the back onto a chest and huddled into the worn blankets of the guest tent, feigning sleep. He planned to stay there until Dream arrived, hoping it was believable that Tommy was so tired and so malnourished that sleeping this late wouldn’t be incredible. 

Dream had shown his ugly mask about 45 minutes later. Tommy grumbled that whole time about why he’d had to rush if Dream was going to take his sweet fucking time. 

“Tommy!” Dream announced cheerfully, and the teen hoped the act of rousing from a restless sleep was believable. 

It was all too easy to fall into the routine. 

“Oh, sorry. I’m so sorry,” Tommy sputtered, removing his armor and tossing it into a hole Dream had proudly dug, along with entire contents of the sack. For good measure, he tossed the ratty bag in as well.

Dream chatted along as he lit the TNT and pushed Tommy away from the blast. Asked what Tommy had been up to—interrogated him, more like—and was especially confused why Tommy only had so little things.

“I wasn’t feeling too good. Stayed in bed a lot. Got what I could while I was awake, but nothing too valuable,” Tommy answered, careful to keep his voice low and eyes averted. 

Dream had snickered. “Smart boy, Tommy.”

When Tommy stumbled through Techno’s door very early the next morning, he was quiet. He said nothing to Techno or Ghostbur, just walked straight into his little room and stayed there. He didn’t come out until the next day. When he finally resurfaced, they didn’t talk about what happened.

They didn’t talk much about that at all. One night, Tommy had gotten a little too comfortable and had started going on rants.

“Every fuckin’ day, the bastard comes and takes my shit. Been doin’ it since I first got exiled, right Wil? I used to fight him, but he’d just hit me and shout at me, fuckin’ dickhead.”

He hadn’t gone into any more detail as soon as he’d noticed the way Techno’s eyes went darker and his fists clenched. He seemed as though he was listening to a voice completely other than Tommy’s at that moment. So, no, they didn’t talk about that much.

Currently, Tommy sat at the little table with Technoblade, discussing escape plans and battle techniques. Tommy was more than strong enough to leave on his own, but Techno hadn’t given him some threatening ultimatum yet, so Tommy had decided not to be the one to bring it up.

But he quickly found that he liked talking with Techno. More than he probably should. The two had plenty in common. They were brothers after all.

It was beginning to get dark when Ghostbur plowed through the door, shutting it quickly behind him. Both men turned to see Ghostbur huddled in against the wind, snow coating every surface of his clothes. He began shedding layers, until only the dark jeans and yellow sweater remained. In his hand, he clutched a black envelope.

Tommy’s eyes zeroed in on it instantly, but Ghostbur spoke before Tommy got the chance. 

“I’ve got plans tomorrow!” Ghostbur chimed joyfully.

“Where are you goin’?” Techno asked, and Tommy couldn’t tell if he actually cared to know the answer. Techno’s eyes were focused on the papers in front of him, but his body was turned towards Ghostbur. 

The spirit tucked himself into the third chair, rubbing his hands together to produce warmth. “It’s a funeral!” he announced far too happily.

“What?” Tommy snapped. “Who for? And why are you happy about it?”

Ghostbur seemed confused, both at Tommy and himself. “I’m happy because Tubbo called it a ‘celebration of life’ actually, and celebrations are fun, aren’t they?”

Tommy’s blood ran cool, like it always did when that name came up. “Tubbo invited you?”

“Sure, he did,” Ghostbur answered easily, then seemed to catch up. “Oh, I-I’m sure he would’ve invited you too, except it’s…you know…”

“Where is it?” Techno asked, and again, Tommy didn’t know if he was genuinely curious or just wanted to draw the conversation away form that particular path. “And who is it for, Ghostbur?”

Ghostbur seemed to think for a moment. “It’s um…it’s at Tubbo’s old house, actually. Requires nether travel. And it’s…. it’s for… d’you know, I can’t seem to remember who it’s for. Probably because it made me sad…”

“Is that the envelope?” Techno asked calmly, pointing at the black paper Ghostbur had walked in with. Meanwhile, Tommy was trying to figure out if he’d be allowed to go along. Was that house Dream SMP land? Would he be able to get a pass for a funeral? Probably not with how angry Dream already was…

Ghostbur nodded, and at Techno’s outstretched hand, passed it along to his older twin. 

The three of them were silent as Techno investigated. 

The silence was broken by a loud, “Eh?”

Techno was very obviously caught completely off guard.

“What?” Tommy asked, attempting to peer across the table at what was inside that envelope. “What is it?”

“Tommy,” Techno responded, very quietly, and very carefully. He slowly turned the paper so that it was facing Tommy, so that Tommy could clearly see the picture depicted there. The picture showing the silhouette of one boy, his hair wild in the wind, observing the sunset. His head was turned, assumedly towards whoever was taking the picture. Tommy recognized the red shirt and blue eyes immediately, thought they didn’t seem accurate anymore. 

“Tommy, this funeral is for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you! Kisses! Pls hang out if you need to talk or just want to attempt to unpack all the fucked up shit that went down on that smp today

**Author's Note:**

> I know I get sappy and thank you guys too much every time but seriously. Thank you so much and I love you. I know this arc is hard for some people to deal with so please know I'll try to be here as often as possible in case anyone wants to talk or needs to vent. HUGE thanks to Lily, Vi, Rea, Paradox, Angel, Dee, and everyone else who's supported me thus far, you guys make my heart go brr.


End file.
